


G-Men, Then and Now

by hermione_vader



Category: Captain America (Movies), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Fish out of Water, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 16:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermione_vader/pseuds/hermione_vader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for Capkink. Pre-Avengers (both in-universe and IRL).  Steve is stuck living at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in New York, more isolated than ever.  One day, a red-and-black-clad stranger named Deadpool stumbles into his room and will not stop talking.  They bump into each other again and again, and as annoying as Deadpool is, he's the only one who treats Steve like a person instead of an asset, a robot, or a piece of glass.  Steve likes that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt [here.](http://capkink.livejournal.com/810.html?thread=166442#t166442)
> 
> This was written in August 2011, about nine months before _The Avengers_ was released in theaters, which is why a couple of things don't line up with canon perfectly, though I tried to write two characters as IC as I could with the canon information I had at the time.

The Incident happened a couple of weeks after Steve woke up. 

Fury and Coulson had briefed him on his situation and they had told him that over the years, he still had admirers. Steve hadn't expected anyone like this, though.

Steve had left his door open. He couldn't explain why. Maybe he thought a familiar face might walk back in against all impossibility. Instead, a figure covered in a red and black body suit and mask poked his head in.

"Whoa, Captain America! I'd know that handsome, bizarrely Aryan mug anywhere!" The figure (a man, Steve supposed) bounced into the room and did a backflip. "You know, I always did think it was a little weird that the Nazis got their asses handed to them by a guy who looked like their wacky ideal..."

Steve can feel his mouth hanging open as he watches the stranger, noticing the narrows swords sheathed and strapped to his back. "So you're a fan?" 

"Oh, yeah. I've read all the comic books and I even bought all your old newsreels on DVD---had to kill a minor Arab sheikh to get that money. I love those things---they're even cheesier than Army of Darkness! But now you're here! Which is a thousand times better, don'tcha know." The man stood up, crossed his arms, and cocked his head to the side. "I didn't believe it at first because I heard a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. mooks talking about it, and everyone knows that mooks and goons don't ever know any accurate information except random tidbits on how to destroy the villains evil lair. But then that cute little intern, whose name I'm totally blanking on---Daisy? Delaney? Something trendy-sounding but not in the Top 100---she told me about it when she brought me some chimichangas and she's practically Coulson's assistant or something, so I figured it was true. So now we're here. And it's amazing!" He made jazz hands motions and twirled around excitedly.

Steve blinked several times. "Does everyone nowadays talk that fast?"

"Nah, just me. Forgot to introduce myself in my fanboy SQUEE!" The man held his hand out. "Name's Deadpool. Also Wade Wilson, but the jury's out on whether I stole that or not. They're keeping me here because they think I have information on something---I don't even know what---but I stay because I kind of like it. Like I said, I'm totally a fan."

"Well, uh, that's good to know." Steve's ears seemed to burn with the amount and speed of language they'd just processed.

"WILSON!" Fury's voice booms in the corridor.

"Whoops, gotta go!" Deadpool rushed over to Steve, bent down, and kiss him in the space of about five seconds. There was definitely a mouth behind that mask. A very toothy one. Then Deadpool, or Wilson, sprang back and practically leapt out the door. Steve could hear him trying to placate Fury. "It's not like I was bothering him or anything...well, I probably was, but it had to be a lot more entertaining than whatever faux-military jargon you and your suits have been throwing at him since he woke up."

Steve took a deep breath and decided that Wilson wasn't completely wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve managed to avoid Wilson (or Deadpool or whatever he's called) for the next two weeks, except for brief encounters in the hallway and the gym that usually ended with odd statements like, "Just lie back and think of America!"  Steve didn't exactly fear him or dislike him; he just couldn't understand him, like just about everything that wasn't his own bed these days.  What baffled him the most was that Wilson seemed to live in his red-and-black suit and even the mask.  He acted like he loved it.  Perhaps Wilson was deranged or maybe he was simply very, very modern.  From what Steve had gleaned from the television, either scenario was plausible.  
  
Then one day (possibly a Wednesday---it feels like one), when the walls began to crawl closer around him, Steve went to the gym to go a few rounds with the punching bag.  As soon as he walked in, he saw Wilson, hanging upside down from one of the rafters, waving at him.  
  
"High-dee-ho, Cap!" he asked, his arms moving so rapidly that Steve was surprised he kept his balance.  "Can I call you Cap or do you prefer Steve?  Captain Rogers is probably more 'correct', but I'm not a formal guy.  And definitely not 'Mister Rogers' 'cause now I have trolleys swirling around in my brain.  But it's definitely a beautiful day in the neighborhood when you're here, Cap."  
  
"I don't really have a preference," Steve told him as he began to pound the bag a little harder it was meant to be hit.  "Deadpool, can I ask you a question?"  
  
"Oh, my name sound so darn wonderful when you say it!" Wilson said dreamily, with a giant, affect sigh.  "But yeah, shoot."  
  
"What do you want from me?"  His hand THUD-ed against the punching bag.  
  
Wilson hoisted himself up and turned around to sit on the rafter facing Steve.  "Nothing, dude, except maybe your company or the chance to whisk you off to a little island where we'd live on a farm raising mutated goats.  Except that farming sucks.  Anyway, why are you surprised?  _Everybody_ loves you.  You're like Brad Pitt: the only people who genuinely hate you are snobby, socialist pseudo-intellectuals who still think that Woody Allen movies are original and that living in communes is productive."  
  
"Who's Brad Pitt?"  
  
"Oh, boy, I forgot about that.  I am totally making you watch _Fight Club_.  And _Inglourious Basterds_.  And _Cool World_ , just because it's trippy."  Wilson kicked his feet happily.  
  
"Hey, Wade!  I brought you a sugar fix!" a female voice called out.  It was that pretty dark-haired, blue-eyed girl Steve always saw wandering around the building, usually in a hurry, but now she was holding up a large white paper bag and smiling cheekily up at Wilson.  
  
"Darcy!  My very, very favorite beautiful intern!"  Wilson hopped all the way down and landed perfectly on his feet, but did a somersault, probably just because he could.  "Whatcha got today?"  
  
"A whole crazy assortment.  It was one of those wishy-washy days."  She opened the bag and Wilson took out a ridiculously large cookie---in the old days, desserts that size only came out of state fairs.  Then Darcy held out the bag in Steve's direction.  "Want some, Captain Tightpants?"  
  
"Uh..."  
  
"Of course he does!  Give him something, Darce!" Wilson said with a thumbs-up.   
  
"Dude, if you don't pick something, me and Wade will eat all this and that'll be the Sugarpocalypse.  Or Sugnarok."  She shook the open bag and smiled at him.  Steve took a strawberry danish that was about half the size of his face.  "God, you two are cute together, you know that?"  
  
"I, uh..."  Steve racked his brain for the right response.  
  
"Well, you know, Darce, we government experiments have to stick together!"  Wilson clapped Steve on the shoulder.  Steve could only guess that he was grinning.

*

"Deadpool---er, Wade, this can't be a good idea."  Steve's stomach flipped as he watched Wilson hopping from rafter to rafter, throwing his two swords (katana, he said they were called) up in air and leaping much too fast to catch them.  
  
"Of course it's not a good idea, Cap.  I only ever had one of those---June 23, 1997," Wilson said, pausing to spin the katana together like a sharp, silver wheel.  
  
"What was it?"  
  
"I don't know anymore."  He tossed the swords and flipped backward onto the next beam.  
  
"I thought I had a good idea once," Darcy said through a mouthful of brownie.  "I took a lit class on Jane Austen for an elective and thought I could just watch the movies.  It flopped when I based my final paper's thesis on Mr. Darcy's open-shirt rowing scene.  Turns out that's not in the book."  
  
"Aw, that's what I woulda done, Darce."  Toss, flip.  Toss, leap.  
  
Steve took a cookie out of the bag this time, one covered in M&M's.  "So, Darcy, you're a college girl?"  
  
"Yup, I'm only doing the whole S.H.I.E.L.D. thing to finish up six credits.  Political science.  One day, I'll be a senator and you guys will totally be my security guards."  
  
"'Cept I'll be your top aide!" Wilson shouted, swiping the swords against each other.  
  
"So you'd be the first, then?  Woman senator, I mean."  
  
Darcy looked at him like he'd just grown two extra heads.  Then she laughed, reached up, and patted him on the head.  "You are such a cute little Martian!  And _no_."  
  
"You tell 'im, Darcy!"  Toss, jump.  Toss, twirl.  
  
Steve's cheeks grew hot.  "Just wondering: do you and Wilson...are you two..."  
  
"Me and Wade?"  She laughed again, more giggly this time.  "Nah, he's just my new BFF---he's the only guy around who's not a lame suit.  Except for that guy in the file room who's got those dreamy green eyes---his name's Luke, I think.  And Wade's got a much bigger crush on _you_ anyway."  
  
"You mean he's a---"  
  
"He likes everything."  
  
"Jesus, Cap, with your smooth moves, you're making me look like George Clooney."  Wilson threw the katana against and jumped.  Or at least Ryan Reynoooooooh!!!"   
  
Wilson fell in slow motion with his arms and legs wiggling helplessly right before the swords pierced him onto the floor.  At least, that's how Steve would remember it.  He wouldn't remember running to his side (or Darcy following him), only the sight of Wilson splayed out a copy of the Vetruvian Man he'd once seen in an art book, only with more blades.  
  
"Hi, Steve.  What did you think of _that_ landing?"  
  
"You're still...does this place have a hospital wing?"  Steve wondered why he still didn't know that.  
  
"Don't sweat it, just pull these things out already!"  Wilson reached over towards one of the katana with his unpierced arm, but quickly gave up.  Steve yanked out the one in his side, then the one in his left arm.  Wilson sprang up immediately.  "Thanks for that, Cap!  All good now!"  
  
"Uh, how do you feel?"  He heard Wilson's bones _snap_ back into place.  Not possible.  Not even for Steve.  
  
"Christlike, as always."  
  
"As gross as it is, I kind of love it when he does that," Darcy remarked.  They both ignored her.  
  
"How did you---?  You can't really---?"  
  
Wilson punched him in the arm.  "Like I said, Cap, we government experiments gotta stick together."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Agent Coulson's characterization is based on his appearances in _Iron Man 2_ and _Thor_ , so he's not a squeeing fanboy because those scenes did not exist yet at the time this was written. Just a warning for people who wanted lots of squee.

Wilson's words followed Steve for the next few days, echoing every time he turned a corner.  He needed answers and he figure he wouldn't get a straight answer from Wilson, so he went to the only other source he could think of.  
  
"Director Fury."  He saluted, though his eyes wandered to the too many screens littered around the control room.  "Permission to speak freely sir?"  
  
"Granted."  Fury nodded and Steve felt that one good eye examining every inch of him.  Maybe the patch was studying him, too.  "Tell me, to what do I owe this rare visit?"  
  
"Was the Super-Soldier Project ever re-opened?"  
  
"The government attempted to improve upon the project several times over the years, with less-than-desirable results."  The eye (and the patch) zoomed in.  "Why the sudden curiosity?"  
  
Steve took deliberate steps as he walked onto the raised platform.  "Dr. Erskine told me right before the operation that the serum enhances someone's perosnality, like turning goodness into greatness.  Would it turn oddness into complete insanity?"  
  
"Wade Wilson is not one of the attempted relaunches' failures."  
  
"He's one of its successes?"  
  
Fury began to pace back and forth.  "Wilson was never part of that project.  He was a test subject in the Weapon X Program, an attempt to graft mutant abilities onto humans."  
  
"Mutants?"  
  
"The next step in evolution---a new type of human with seemingly supernatural abilities: flight, telepathy, telekinesis, cryokinesis, pyrokinesis, and any other 'kinesis' you could imagine.  But that's another briefing session."  
  
Steve ran his hand through his hair.  "What in hell did you folks give him?"  
  
"It was not a S.H.I.E.L.D. project and only a few files remain.  The rest were destroyed."  Fury tapped a few computer buttons and brought up a picture of a man with wild dark hair and metal claws coming out of his hands.  "As far as we can tell, Wilson was dying when he enter the program, so he received DNA from this mutant, Wolverine.  It contained a healing factor as well as superstrength and heightened agility, but you've already seen that, haven't you?"  
  
"Yes, sir. It was...a bit disgusting."  Steve nearly shivered imagining that _snap_ ing sound.  
  
"Has he told you why he's here, Captain?"  
  
"You want information on something, but he has no idea what.  Or can't remember."  
  
"We've been running tests.  We've learned that his body has both embraced and rejected the healing factor, which is why his mind is in constant flux."  
  
Steve tried not to roll his eyes at the words.  "He's mad as a hatter.  Are you using him to catch this Wolverine?"  
  
"Wolverine is not a threat, for the time being, at least."  
  
"So he's just a lab rat?  A frog in biology class?"  
  
Fury glared at him.  
  
"Director, what _does_ he look like under that mask."  
  
"No one knows.  He refuses to take the suit off---we just poke the needles through."  Fury stroked his chin.  "But he trusts you, Captain.  And wouldn't you like to know?"  
  
"I'm not an informant, sir."  
  
"Of course you're not.  But you could make yourself useful---"  
  
"That's not a mission; that's betrayal."  
  
"You grow loyal pretty quickly, you know that?"  
  
"I think I can afford to be picky with the directives I accept now that there's not a war on."    
  
"Not the kind you're used to," Fury said with an icy stare.  
  
Steve turned to leave and heard one set of footsteps hurrying away in the corridor.

*

Steve went looking for Wilson.  Instead, he found Coulson lurking behind a corner wearing one of his two facial expressions.  
  
"Like I already told Miss Lewis, you should avoid Wade Wilson," he said in his usual, almost icy way.  
  
"Because he's nuts, right?"  Steve sighed.  
  
"Because he is one of the most unpredictable and strangely competent assassins I have ever seen."   
  
"I think he prefers the term 'mercenary.'"  
  
Coulson sneered slightly.  "Regardless of terminology, we have footage of Wilson weaponizing a pair of water wings."  
  
Steve blinked.  "What does that have to do with me?"  
  
"Men like him do not have friends or buddies.  In my professional opinion, it's only a matter of time before we have a dead icon on our hands if you continue to associate with him."  
  
Steve looked pointedly down at Coulson.  "Let me worry about that."  He left Coulson in his corner and continued down the hall.  
  
This time, Darcy popped out of nowhere.  "So did you get the 'stay away from that boy because he's trouble and we'll have no dancing in this town, missy' speech yet?"  
  
"I think so."  
  
"You think he's right?"  
  
"I'd like to find out from the source."

*

Steve scoured the building for Wilson for the next three days and didn't find so much as a blood-stained sword.  Or chimichanga.  Or _Golden Girls_ DVD boxset, whatever that was.  He checked almost every floor, from offices to supply closets.  Every time, he expected to hear that 90 MPH voice saying something like, "So you know, Steve, I have decided to invest in a time-traveling phone booth, and you and Darcy are coming with me," or "Do you have fun in the Land of Make-Believe?  Or are Daniel Striped Tiger and Prince Tuesday even whinier douches in real life than they are onscreen?" or "Elmo is just about four steps away from total world domination."  Instead, the mops and brooms seemed to stared him---Steve wondered if they had cameras hidden inside them, but he decided that Wilson's paranoia was a bit contagious.  
  
Wilson had been right about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s "mooks," as he'd called them---Steve got five radically different answers when he asked around.  The last one told him he should try the roof, so he camped out there at sunset with his sketchbook, on the off-chance that the mook was right or Wilson just showed up because he found the whole thing funny.  He _would_.  
  
Steve took a charcoal pencil from the set the gave him and began tracing small lines on the paper and sketched until the became Puppy Deadpool.  He ripped out the page and tossed it aside, and then flipped back through his sketchbook and saw a theme running through his recent drawings.  Deadpool.  Darcy and Deadpool.  Lion Deadpool.  Wolf Deadpool.  Darcy holding kitten Deadpool (she'd asked very nicely).  Ballerina Deadpool (Wilson commissioned that one).  He slammed the book shut and turned to leave.  
  
"It's a shame you don't like this one.  It's rather good, really," said an accented stranger who must have jumped out of a plane because Steve didn't hear the anyone come up.    
  
"How long have you---"  
  
"Not too long.  I didn't mean to frighten you, Captain Rogers.  I'm just a little sneaky."  His big, green eyes blinked.  "Bad habit."  
  
"What do you want from me?"  The hair on Steve's arms stood on end, like he'd just received a static shock.  
  
"He wants to see you," the man said serenely.  Something about him wasn't quite right---Steve could just tell.  Maybe it was his slicked-back hair, maybe it was his pale, gaunt features, or maybe it was those large green eyes; whatever it was, it was just _off_.    
  
"You mean Wilson?"  
  
"Of course."  The black-haired stranger smiled.  Steve's stomach did a flip.  
  
"And who the heck _are_ you?"  
  
"Luke.  A friend of Darcy's."  
  
Steve remembered the name.  "From the file room."  
  
"Yes.  She was supposed to retrieve you, but Coulson sent her on an errand, so Deadpool sent me."  Luke turned to leave, but looked back.  "Aren't you coming?"

*

Luke led Steve down to the top floor elevator and pushed the button for the building's cellar.  
  
"The basement?"  Steve furrowed his brow.  "Wouldn't that just be storage?"  
  
"Oh, yes.  They have to keep him somewhere." Luke said briefly as the elevator plummeted downward.  He didn't seem quite so off-putting indoors, though Steve had no idea why.  In the artificial lighting, his features were still sharp, but looked...prettier.  Steve never thought he'd call a guy that, but it was true.  As he looked at Luke, the silence became weirdly oppressive.  
  
"So, uh, are you and Darcy---"  
  
"She told me you'd ask that.  Honestly, Captain, you're not what I expected when I heard you were blond and brawny," Luke remarked with a sideways glance.  
  
"What _did_ you expect?"  
  
"Someone louder.  More brash.  A bit reckless.  Like my older brother."  He smiled slyly.  "And he's bigger, actually."  
  
"Oh."  
  
The elevator _THUD_ ed to a halt.  They stepped into a slightly dim hallway with bland, cracked concrete walls and lights nearly swinging from the ceiling.  As Luke led him down the hall, a familiar voice echoed against the walls and shaking lights.  
  
"Oh, YES! I'm the GREAT!  PRETEEEEENDERRRR!!! Adrift in a WORLD!  Of my OOOOOOOWN!!!  I PLAY the GAME!  But to MY REAL SHAAAAAAME!!  You've left me to DREAM ALL ALOOOOOOOONE!!!!!"  
  
The words pounded in his ears as he turned about a dozen corners, until he and Luke finally reached Wilson's room, where he was hanging upside down on a bar that protruded from the wall and singing at the tops of his lungs.  
  
"...Just laughing and GAAAAAYYYY like a CLOOOOOOOOWN!!!!!!!  Oh, hi there, Lukey-Luke."  
  
"Guess what I brought you?"  Luke pulled Steve into the small room by the arm.  
  
"STEVE!!!!"  Wilson squealed.  His right leg slipped and he crashed to the floor.  "Nice job, Young Skywalker!  I owe you like...I don't even know, but I'll definitely think of it later."  
  
"Alright then.  Have fun."  Luke grinned and waved before he headed down the corridor.  
  
Wilson stood up and spread his arms out wildly.  "So, Captain America, protector of all that is shiny and patriotic, welcome to my humble (and hopefully temporary) abode.  What do you think?"  
  
"It's...nice."  It was a dim, dank cell about ten feet wide with no windows and one threadbear cot.  
  
"I'm glad you like it.  I tried to spruce it up with some paint," he nodded towards the red splatter on the walls, "but they took it away because they thought I'd get _ideas_ , whatever that means."  
  
"You did a good job with what you had."  Steve bit his lip.  
  
"I always do!  Now come on, sit down or something!  You're _way_ too tense!"  Wilson began to massage Steve's shoulders.  Steve didn't stop him.

So, you know, I'm sorry about the disappearing act, but it was Lukey's idea.  He said it would bring us closer together in the long run.  Or something like that---he told me while I was trying to think up _Golden Girls_ porn, so I was only half-listening, but he's a super-persuasive guy."  Wilson's fingers pressed so hard on Steve's shoulder muscles that he flinched.  "Oh.  Sorry again.  Anyway, I figured you'd probably forget me and move on."  
  
"You're not forgettable, believe me."  Steve sat down on the cot to get away from Wilson's crawling fingers, which felt a little nicer than they should have once he lightened his touch.  
  
"I probably am if you try hard enough.  I'll just turn into some red-and-black talking blur in the back of your mind that only rears its head when you're dreaming.  It's probably 'healthier' that way, at least that's how all the shrinks in this place would put it."  Wilson took on a high, nasal voice.  "'Wade, you know that you'll never improve if you continue to indulge your own fantasies of having a constantly present audience.'  'Mr. Wilson, you will never change unless you stop blaming your behavior on your condition.  The moment you begin to take responsibility for your actions is when you will finally stop taking pleasure in violence.'  Yeah, let them wrestle with cancer and a healing factor reenacting every major Civil War battle in their bodies and we'll see how they handle it.  I think I'm on the Battle of Shiloh right now..."  
  
Steve's ears perked up at the last couple of sentences.  "Cancer?"  
  
"Yeah.  Why, what did they tell you?"  
  
"Just that you were dying.  Fury didn't go into details.  It sounded like you were mortally wounded."  
  
Wilson plopped down next to Steve on the cot.  "If that were true, dude, d'you think this would've happened?"  He peeled his mask off slowly.  
  
Numbness crept into Steve's face as he stared at Wilson's.  Veiny lines of skin wandered across once decent-looking features, forming now-pitted cheeks, a somewhat lumpy nose, and a bald head with more craters than the moon.  
  
"Aren't we g-boys handsome?  They just love churning out an army of GQ models."  The face formed a wry smile and two brown eyes twinkled.  They were still nice eyes.  
  
Steve opened his mouth, but only air streamed out.  His arm reached out toward Wilson almost involuntarily.   
  
"Alright, here."  Wilson grabbed his hand and passed his fingers over the vein-like skin, pressing them into the small pits.  Steve took several deep breaths.  He thought Wilson's face would feel hard, maybe coarse, but it really only felt like plain old skin.  Just a face.  "You know, Steve, I'm pretty surprised that you haven't run out screaming yet.  Hell, I'm surprised that you've been nice to me at all.  I mean, every TV episode dealing with hero worship can't be wrong, right?  I used to imagine that if they ever found you, you'd turn out to be this giant jerk and we'd all learn a lesson about propaganda and believing in heroes, but I'm really, _really_ glad you're not because when I'm around you, I feel like less of a psycho because you're the first person I met in here who doesn't treat me like I'm a whackjob, which I am, and I probably wouldn't have run into Darcy and Luke if it weren't for you, and dear Jesus, this is the stuff I'm not supposed to say _out loud_ , but dammit---"  
  
Steve smashed his lips against Wilson's---Wade's.  It was rash, it was sloppy, and Steve didn't care because he got Wade to stop talking before he blushed anymore.  Then he pulled back.  "Well, Wade, you're the only person in this crazy future who actually thinks I still matter."  
  
Wade rested his forehead against Steve's and ran gloved fingers underneath his T-shirt.  "You do, Cap.  You do."


	4. Chapter 4

On many different occasions, Steve had wondered how he would lose his virginity.  Back then, he decided that it would be with a beautiful woman in a large bed with fluffy pillows in a room with a great view of the city.  
  
He was wrong on all counts.  
  
"Zipper!" Wade yelled as Steve laid back and pulled him down onto the cot.  "Zipper.  At the back."  
  
"Uh-huh," Steve mumbled between kisses.  His fingers fumbled around on Wade's back until they found the tiny zipper and yanked.    
  
Steve pulled at the red-and-black suit while Wade nearly tore his clothes off, starting with his T-shirt, until they'd thrown everything off and just stared at each other for few moments, taking each other in.  The scars were _everywhere_ , except the palms of Wade's hands, mysteriously.  But the more Steve looked at them, the less he cared.  It was like observing the models in art classes, except with an odd mosaic overlaid on this one.  And it fascinated him as his lightly touched the bumps and craters and curves.  
  
"Okay, Cap, this is it.  Point of no return."  Wade ran his fingers up and down Steve's chest over and over.  His answers were just short gasps as his cock grew harder and harder.  "No, really, Steve, if you want to kick me to the floor, now would be a pretty good time."  
  
Steve traces the scars on Wade's right shoulder with his thumb.  "I don't want to kick you to the floor, you know."  
  
Wade's brown eyes grew saucer-wide.  "Is this pity sex?  Because I don't do pity sex."  
  
"It's not pity s---is that a real thing?"  
  
"Oh hell yeah.  Pretty damn pathetic, though."  
  
"This isn't that.  I swear."  
  
"Captain's Honor or whatever?"  Wade blinked.  
  
"Yes.  Absolutely."  
  
Wade blinked again, then cracked a big grin.  "Okey-dokey.  Could we roll over?  I wanna be able to say I rode Captain fucking America, probably in the middle of a boasting match with a supervillain I've been hired to whack."  
  
"I...what?"  Steve could feel his face grow warm and he wondered why that hadn't happened earlier.  
  
"C'mon, it'll be fun!"  Wade shook Steve's knees excitedly.  "Please, Cap?"  
  
"Wade, I can't.  I don't...I haven't...I've never..."  He took a few deep breaths.  
  
"You...OH GOD!"  Wade's hands flew to his mouth.  " _Seriously_?  But you kept yourself surrounded with USO girls and strapping soldiers!  How could you _not_?!"  
  
"I was just waiting---"  
  
"No dancing metaphors.  Those only work in romantic comedies and British sci-fi."  Wade lifted Steve's legs onto his shoulders.  "We gotta fix this.  Immediately."  
  
He grabbed Steve's cock and squeezed.  Hard.  Steve fell back into the cot's thin pillow and moanly a little louder than he meant to.  
  
Wade laughed.  "Atta boy.  So Steve, has anybody ever told you that you got redwoods for legs?"

*

With an enthusiastic "TO INFINITY!  AND BEYOND!" from Wade, they both came _hard_.  Steve had never thought it could be so...energetic.  That was probably the wrong word, but he really had no clue how else to put it.  His come coated Wade's stomach and then both's stomach as Wade collapsed on top of him with a loud, satisfied sigh.  
  
"So that was _fun_ ," Wade said as he nuzzled his bumpy head against Steve's chest.  Then he glanced up.  "I mean, 'How was it for you, dear?'"  
  
"It was...interesting."  Steve rubbed his fingers over the bumps and valleys on Wade's head.  
  
"Good interesting or bad interesting?"  
  
"The good kind."  
  
"Alrighty.  I'm used to being the other one."  Wade paused.  Really, sincerely paused.  
  
"Wade, can I ask you something?"  
  
"Shoot.  But not literally."  
  
"How did you get your name?"  
  
"Depending on which writer you believe, I maybe kinda sorta stole it from this guy named T-Ray, or maybe I'm the real Wade Wilson, but it's always changing, so some days I wake up and I think my name is Orlando Bloom, but then I remember that I wasn't really an elf and---"  
  
"No, I mean your other name."  
  
Wade's mouth formed a slightly creepy grin.  "Okay.  Riddle me this, Cap-tan: where do you practice your deathstroke?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Wade leaned up so that their noses bumped together.  "Deathstroke.  Where would you practice it?"  
  
Steve tried to visualize that phrase for a few moments, and then it clicked.  " _Oh_."  
  
"Exactly."  Wade briefly glided his tongue along Steve's collarbone.  "So can we do this again sometime?"  
  
"Well, I owe you one, don't I?"  
  
Wade shrugged.  "Not really.  I mean, only if you want to, but most people don't 'cause I'm me.  But even if we couldn't be lovers, we could do the whole 'friends with benefits' deal---which is a _very_ real thing---but according to the movies, we'd end up falling madly in love anyway, so maybe I'm just screwed.  Actually, we're both screwed _right now_ , but that's not what I meant---"  
  
Steve tipped Wade's head up and kissed him slowly.  "You're cute when you ramble."  
  
Wade's mouth formed a giant 'O'.  "Wow, Cap, that was almost seductive."  Then he began to nip at Steve's neck.  
  
"There's just one thing, Wade."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Don't ever shout out 'Captain Reynolds' again."  
  
"Sorry about that," Wade murmured between kisses.  "I got my fantasies mixed up for a minute.  
  
Steve began to relax against the pillow again, letting his legs go slack, when he heard something drop while a familiar voice shouted, "HOLY SHIT!"  
  
Their heads turned abruptly towards the door.  
  
"Darcy!"  Wade exclaimed, his voice squeaking on the last syllable.  "Learn to knock!"  
  
"The door was wide open!  Think about that next time, merc-boy."  Her eyes swept up and down their bodies---or more precisely, Wade's.  "Dude, you're _ripped_!  I knew Captain No-Pants was crazy-built, but you're ridiculous."  She took a deep breath.  "And the scars are hot, in a Phantom of the Opera sort of way."  
  
Wade looked from Darcy to Steve and back again, with his brow furrowed.  "Huh."  
  
"What do you need, Darcy?" Steve asked as politely as he could under the circumstances.  
  
Darcy adjusted her glasses and ran her hand through her hair.  "Oh, yeah, big thing: these dudes in green and yellow jumpsuits are trying to pull a Battle of Helm's Deep upstairs.  I thought this called for your guys' type of badassery.  And even if you two don't want fight, you can come watch Luke be generally awesome with a spear.  Not like you guys, but like an actual, seven-foot-long-ish spear."  She picked up her clipboard and grinned.  
  
"Hey, Darce," Wade began, "do these guys in green yell anything?"  
  
"Yeah, they started screaming stuff like 'HAIL H.Y.D.R.A.!' and 'Cut off one limb (or may be 'head'?) and two more will take its place!' and it's a bit adorkable.  Very Comic Con."  
  
"H.Y.D.R.A.?!" they repeated simultaneously.  A chill ran down Steve's spine.  How could it have survived after all this time?  
  
He glanced worriedly at Wade, who grabbed his hand and shouted, "THUNDERCATS ARE GOOOOOO!!!"

*

The green jumpsuits flew and jumped and tumbled through the hallways and off the walls when they got off the elevator in the first floor lobby.  Honestly, Steve thought they looked a bit cheap, with spandex as thick as paper and thin yellow lining that was flaked off in places.  Did they lose _all_ of their funding after Schmidt died?  
  
Just as Steve was about to join the fray, Luke _whooshed_ past him, twirling at the H.Y.D.R.A. agents like an assassin ballerina.  He slammed his pole (spear?) in the ground and took out about five agents with a swinging maneuver that Steve was pretty sure he'd seen on that Cinemax channel at 2:00 a.m. once.  Luke's big green eyes got increasingly steely with each twirl, swing, and jab.  In battle, Steve realized, he seemed almost as crazy as Wade.  
  
Steve himself was a collection of quick, conservative hooks, crosses, and kicks up against a mish-mash of overly showy moves.  Still, it was nice to get some practice in.  Luckily, every time they managed to confuse him, Darcy stood nearby with the little zapping gadget she called "her trusty taser," wearing the same expression Peggy did whenever she got her hands on a pistol.  In the middle of the fight, Steve realized that he fought better in tandem with Darcy than he ever had with anyone else, as strange as that sounded.  
  
But if Luke was a dancer, Steve was a machine, and Darcy was a spunky robot, then Deadpool was a summer carnival or maybe even Coney Island: a Ferris wheel of katana slices, a glowing carousel of spraying bullets, a roller coaster of back and front and double flips, and a proper showman's voice full quirky quips.  
  
"YIPPEE-KI-AY, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!"  Just about all of the H.Y.D.R.A. agents were either dead or down, so Wade decided to shoot the ceiling.  
  
"Wade, stop," Steve said firmly.  
  
"Aw, but Cap, I've still got, like, seventy-five more fights left in me."  
  
"Oh, God, those things are going to ricochet and this will be one helluva depressing HBO Special: _The Death of Captain America and Friends_."  Darcy covered her ears as the shots rang out.  
  
"Now, my dearest little Darcy, do you really think I'm that crappy a shot?" Deadpool asked.  A bullet bounced off a lighting fixture and landed near Luke's feet.  
  
"Wade."  Steve kept his voice as calm and even as he could.  Wade dropped the gun.  
  
"Mr. Wilson!  MR. WILSON!!!  There you are!"  A scrawny, unscathed H.Y.D.R.A. agent ran up to Wade and hugged him tightly.

"Bob, what the hell?" Wade asked, pulling back from the agent.  "They were supposed to do their thing _next_ week."  
  
"But Mr. Wilson, you gave us the codes and the orders two days ago.  Everyone got extras concealment workshops to prepare."  
  
Steve almost thought he saw the corners of Luke's mouth quirk upward.  
  
"Okay, could somebody back up and explain this dude?" Darcy interjected, jerking her head towards Bob.  
  
Wade threw his arms out.  "Alright, I confess: I planned to let these goofballs in here."  
  
Steve went numb.  "You work for H.Y.D.R.A.?"  
  
"Hell no.  Bob here is my pet.  Or minion.  Yeah, 'minion' is more politically correct.  I think.  He's really only into the H.Y.D.R.A. thing for the health insurance.  And to please his nagging wife.  Anyhoo, mercenary that I am, these H.Y.D.R.A. goons offered me an insane amount of money for info on getting in here.  Now, hold on, Cap, before you go all 'NO WIRE HANGERS!' on me.  They didn't have a Catholic's chance in limbo.  H.Y.D.R.A.'s not all semi-competent-ish like it was back in your day---they're even bigger idiots than me.  And anyway, I did it for you."  Wade pulled up his mask and grinned just a little sheepishly.  
  
"Excuse me?"  The words nearly caught in Steve's throat.  
  
"Well, c'mon dude, you were all lonely and you hadn't had one fight in longer than I've been alive and you were just kinda like...you looked like you really needed to punch something.  So I gave it to you."  Wade clapped him on the shoulder.  "It was a hundred times better than I imagined.  Totally.  And it was pretty sexy, too."  
  
"Like Captain Ryan Reynolds of the _Firefly's Serenity_?" Steve asked hopefully.  Darcy giggled.  
  
Wade smiled broadly.  "Yeah, just like him."  
  
"Mr. Wilson," Bob began, moving towards the door, "It's great that these people took care of you in here, but we really need to go.  If we don't, we might run into Director Fury, and not even all of my H.Y.D.R.A. training could protect.  Really.  I saw him in action once, and I still have nightmares."  
  
Wade bit his lip and scrunched his face up, thinking for a minute.  "You know, Bob, I think I need to stick around for a little while longer.  And no, I don't know how long.  But tell Alex, Sandi, Outlaw, and Weasel that I'll definitely be back."  
  
"Who?" Steve, Darcy, and Luke blurted out.  
  
"Coworkers.  Long story that I'll tell you later."  
  
"WILSON!" Fury shouted from around the corner.  
  
Bob sprinted out the door.  "See ya!"    
  
"It was very refreshing to meet you!" Luke called after him.  
  
Darcy dropped her head in her hands.  "Oh my God, my life.  I swear it was halfway normal once."  
  
Wade rolled his eyes.  "What's so damn great about normal?"

*

Two weeks had past since the second Incident.  Fury had tried several times to put Wade back in his cell under solitary confinement and failed quite spectacularly.  The last time he'd escaped, he'd swung on a rope through the large control rope singing the main theme from something called _The Great Escape_.  Steve heard Fury grumble exasperatedly and he decided it was a quiet sort of surrender.  
  
But now it was Friday night.  Steve knew this because Wade was wearing a ridiculous hat, which he was making into a Friday tradition.  First it was a sombrero, then a wizard's hat, and now a giant gold helmet with either horns or handlebars on top.  
  
"Where the hell did you get that thing?" Steve asked as he jerked his head back, avoiding Wade's attempts at kisses.  
  
"From Luke.  It matches his spear.  He's going to need it for when he takes over the world," Wade said matter-of-factly, his scarred mouth currently uncovered.  He was doing a great job of distracting Steve from the program on the TV, even though he'd said it was important.  
  
Steve got that strange _feeling_ again, the one he couldn't pin down.  "Luke's told you he's going to take over the world?"  
  
"Well, no, but he definitely could, with a voice like that.  People would probably just hear it and sit down quietly, I'm pretty sure.  You'd probably be his head of security, I think I'd be the Grand Vizier, and Darcy would probably be Queen or First Lady or Eva Braun or whatever."  
  
Steve tilted his head sideways and stared dumbfounded at Wade, and then he turned back to the screen and kept trying to figure out why this nameless Doctor wouldn't get the hell out of the London blitz.  
  
As he tried to tell himself he wasn't frightened of a mysterious child in a gas mask, Darcy jogged in carrying a large stack of books.  "Hey, Steve, I thought you could use these---WHOA!  What the hell is _that_ , Wade?"  
  
"Luke's sexy, magical helmet."  His mouth broke into a satisfied grin.  
  
Darcy dropped all of the books into Steve's lap and grabbed the helmet.  She put it on her head and smirked.  "Mine now."  
  
"Darcy, what're all these?"  Steve glanced at some of the titles: _A History of America: 1947-Present_ , _The Things They Carried_ , _To Kill a Mockingbird_ , and _The Smart Aleck's Guide to American History_ , among others.  
  
"It's part of your Cultural Integration (I thought of that name).  Wade's in charge of pop culture and I'm in charge of politics and history."  
  
"Is that why we're watching this crazy thing?"  Steve pointed towards the screen, where the big-eared Doctor just met up with his female friend (wife? girlfriend?).  
  
"'That crazy thing' is called _Doctor Who_ and it's one of the best TV shows ever, third only to _Golden Girls_ and _Maude_ ," Wade snapped, scrunching his bumpy nose up.  "The Doctor is the best.  He's what I want to be when I grow up.  I guess I'm getting there 'cause I have a handsome Captain and a beautiful assistant."  
  
"I am not Rose," Darcy stated gravely.  "I will be Donna or Martha, but not Rose.  I want better dialogue than that."  
  
"And I can't flirt like that guy at all!" Steve interjected.  
  
"Geez, you guys are so nitpicky.  And where's Luke?"  
  
"I think he said he was going to visit his brother, Torgo.  At least I think he said it was Torgo."  Darcy hunched over and stomped around with her legs bowed out.  "I tAkE CaRe Of ThE pLaCe WhIlE tHe MaStEr Is AwAy."  
  
"MST3K is next!"  Wade stood up abruptly and punched the air.  "And Luke definitely _is_ the Master!  I _told_ you he was destined for world domination!"    
  
Steve pulled Wade back down onto the couch and began kissing his neck.

"Oh, do you really think so, boys?"  Luke's came out of nowhere.  They looked up and saw him smiling serenely.  Wade nodded.   Luke plopped down next Steve.  "The three of you are much too good to me."  
  
Steve secretly agreed.  "Are you ever going to tell us how you do _that_?  The appearing thing?"  
  
"Now what would be the fun in that?"  Luke switched his focus to the TV.  "Ah, this is a good episode.  I enjoy the gas mask creatures."  
  
"The Weeping Angels are way creepier," Darcy remarked.  Steve didn't really want to understand what she meant.  
  
"Ssshh, Darce!  We're not there yet!" Wade hissed.  
  
"You know what we should do after this?  Apples to Apples."  
  
"YES!  And I shall PWN with 'Insulting Trekkies.'"  Wade swung his arm around Steve's abdomen.  
  
"Do you understand them?"  Steve asked Luke, sighing.  
  
"Of course not.  But they _are_ amusing."  Luke got that eerie gleam in his eye.  "You're very lucky to have them, Captain."  
  
Steve glanced at Darcy doing the Chicken Dance, still wearing the helmet, and then at Wade, who was making strange shapes with his tongue.  "You know, I think you're right.  It's the weirdest kind of luck, but it's probably for the best."  
  
These were the only three people he'd met in this bizarre future who didn't defer to him or try to order him around.  They didn't want an icon or a hero, at least, not anymore.  They were always their uncompromising, wacky selves.  Friends.


End file.
